Post by SomethingAboutTheStars on Mar 23, 2012 21:07:52 GMT -5
Going on a trip tomorrow for a week...so...no updates. And no internet. Hope you all have a great spring break! (if it's that time for you). Enjoy! Long chapter, uneventful chapter. But Lorence...is...alive!
The sky is covered with clouds when I wake. I don’t see any blue. I’m confused for a while, but then I let it go. It’s going to snow, and the sky is white for that reason. I feel something drop onto my hand. It’s wet. So it’s already started snowing. I’m numb, so I don’t mind that the snow is cold. I want to dance in it, but I’m stiff as a board and can’t move. I can’t feel anything.
Someone is telling another to not cry. They keep saying “She’ll be alright. She’s going to be fine.” Brown clouds start to cross the perfect white sky. More snow falls, this time on my face. But the snow, it’s warm. It melts the moment it touches my skin. The cloud’s not an ugly brown, like the smog over the city. They’re warm and dark and beautiful. And when the clouds split into two, spinning until they turn into discs with black centers, I realize I’m looking at somebody’s eyes.
“Greyson,” I whisper. But I hear no sound. I’m only mouthing the words. I feel more warm snow fall onto my face.
I hear a soft whisper, “I love you, I love you.”
My hair is brushed back by hands that I can’t see. The brown eyes close and more snow hits my face. I close my eyes too.
I’m stiff with cold; my inner fire is going out. Since I was dropped off, I was stuck in the same position. Standing next to Lorence, hands clenched. And then I start to get sore. So I start flexing my fingers. Something clatters to the floor. It sounds like metal links hitting each other. I hear something heavy follow. I look down to see a card fluttering to the ground. I watch the card flip and flip until it lands. I stare at the floor. The card has the cop’s number scrawled on it, but that’s not what I’m wide eyed at. It’s my bullet necklace. The bullet is off the chain, the chain is broken, but it’s there. I can fix it. I silently thank the cop.
Lorence is only awake for a few seconds, but it means everything to see her grey eyes again. She says my name. I stroke her hair and tell her again and again that I love her. But she’s slipped away once more. I start crying again.
For hours, I stand over her bed, waiting for her perfect grey eyes to open again. Tears continually slide off my nose and onto her face. I ignore this for a while until I look down. She looks like she’s crying, and I’m horrified. I gently but hastily wipe my tears from her face. I stand over her like a guard.
But then someone walks in. I startle at the hand that’s suddenly on my shoulder.
“Get some rest, son.”
It’s a voice I don’t recognize. I rub my eyes and turn around. I don’t recognize the man who was talking. Behind him is a boy about my age, but he’s noticeably taller than I am. His hair is blonde. Lorence once told me about Stephen. He’s the café’s manager’s son. So this must be the café manager.
“I want to be there when she wakes up.”
“You’ve been here since the fire. You need to rest,” the manager says.
I sigh. “I…” But I have no reply.
Stephen walks over to me. He pats my arm awkwardly. “Thank you. I’ll tell you immediately if there’s any news.”
I’m reluctant, but I’m so tired. Lorence won’t wake up without me. I touch my fingers to my lips and then to her forehead. She sleeps on.
When I wake up again, I can feel more. My sense of touch is back. For one, my right hand hurts. It hurts and hurts and hurts until I notice the heat sensation, but not the good kind. It stings and I feel tears moving to my eyes and I want to cry onto my hand but they won’t be cold enough and I realize—it’s a burn. I move my other hand, which is wrapped in a thin white bandage towards it. I touch the scratchy material that’s wrapped around my right hand. My throat feels like it’s raw and burning, my chest scathing. There’s needle in my hand. Something clamped onto my finger. More sensations start coming back. There’s an irritating tube taped under my nose. They’re like prongs. I want to take them off, but I remember thinking about how I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe, and I obediently leave the prongs up my nose.
I’m propped up on too many pillows, my back feels sore. There are blankets and covers tossed over me, and I notice two that don’t match the white protocol that seems to rule the room I’m in. One of the blankets is black, purple and white, with a piano patterned around the edges. Black and purple notes decorate the middle. The other blanket is completely different—it’s got baseballs and bats on it. It’s red and blue. The Boston Red Sox logo is on it in the center. Both are extremely warm.
I suddenly am staring at brown eyes again. I blink repeatedly. “Greyson?”
The eyes blink back at me. I realize that they’re lighter than Greyson’s eyes would be. They’re like the hot chocolate he makes. Blonde hair flops over his eyes. His face is clear of freckles.
“Stephen,” I realize.
He smiles, and then I’m wrapped in a hug. “Welcome back to the living, kid,” he whispers. “It’s good to have you back.”
I hear a shift in the room. Footsteps walk across a tiled floor. Stephen lets me go. I look up to see Greyson. He’s smiling. My left hand reaches for his, and he catches it, putting it gently to his lips.
“I got there two hours early,” I tell Greyson later. Apparently it was sometime around midnight when I woke up. He stayed up with me until I made him go to bed. But it’s been only six hours and somehow he’s up and running again.
“I should’ve gotten there earlier,” Greyson sighs.
“No, it’s fine. I should’ve gotten there on time.” I smile at him, taking his hand and bringing it to my lips. Greyson’s eyes start squinting. “No more tears,” I tell him, moving my fingers to his cheeks, right below his eyes should he disobey me and cry.
“It’s just,” Greyson says softly. “I thought you were dead.”
“I’m here, Greyson. Don’t worry. I’m here.” I reach up and brush his hair. He smiles.
Chapter 19
Lorence
The sky is covered with clouds when I wake. I don’t see any blue. I’m confused for a while, but then I let it go. It’s going to snow, and the sky is white for that reason. I feel something drop onto my hand. It’s wet. So it’s already started snowing. I’m numb, so I don’t mind that the snow is cold. I want to dance in it, but I’m stiff as a board and can’t move. I can’t feel anything.
Someone is telling another to not cry. They keep saying “She’ll be alright. She’s going to be fine.” Brown clouds start to cross the perfect white sky. More snow falls, this time on my face. But the snow, it’s warm. It melts the moment it touches my skin. The cloud’s not an ugly brown, like the smog over the city. They’re warm and dark and beautiful. And when the clouds split into two, spinning until they turn into discs with black centers, I realize I’m looking at somebody’s eyes.
“Greyson,” I whisper. But I hear no sound. I’m only mouthing the words. I feel more warm snow fall onto my face.
I hear a soft whisper, “I love you, I love you.”
My hair is brushed back by hands that I can’t see. The brown eyes close and more snow hits my face. I close my eyes too.
Greyson
I’m stiff with cold; my inner fire is going out. Since I was dropped off, I was stuck in the same position. Standing next to Lorence, hands clenched. And then I start to get sore. So I start flexing my fingers. Something clatters to the floor. It sounds like metal links hitting each other. I hear something heavy follow. I look down to see a card fluttering to the ground. I watch the card flip and flip until it lands. I stare at the floor. The card has the cop’s number scrawled on it, but that’s not what I’m wide eyed at. It’s my bullet necklace. The bullet is off the chain, the chain is broken, but it’s there. I can fix it. I silently thank the cop.
Lorence is only awake for a few seconds, but it means everything to see her grey eyes again. She says my name. I stroke her hair and tell her again and again that I love her. But she’s slipped away once more. I start crying again.
For hours, I stand over her bed, waiting for her perfect grey eyes to open again. Tears continually slide off my nose and onto her face. I ignore this for a while until I look down. She looks like she’s crying, and I’m horrified. I gently but hastily wipe my tears from her face. I stand over her like a guard.
But then someone walks in. I startle at the hand that’s suddenly on my shoulder.
“Get some rest, son.”
It’s a voice I don’t recognize. I rub my eyes and turn around. I don’t recognize the man who was talking. Behind him is a boy about my age, but he’s noticeably taller than I am. His hair is blonde. Lorence once told me about Stephen. He’s the café’s manager’s son. So this must be the café manager.
“I want to be there when she wakes up.”
“You’ve been here since the fire. You need to rest,” the manager says.
I sigh. “I…” But I have no reply.
Stephen walks over to me. He pats my arm awkwardly. “Thank you. I’ll tell you immediately if there’s any news.”
I’m reluctant, but I’m so tired. Lorence won’t wake up without me. I touch my fingers to my lips and then to her forehead. She sleeps on.
Lorence
When I wake up again, I can feel more. My sense of touch is back. For one, my right hand hurts. It hurts and hurts and hurts until I notice the heat sensation, but not the good kind. It stings and I feel tears moving to my eyes and I want to cry onto my hand but they won’t be cold enough and I realize—it’s a burn. I move my other hand, which is wrapped in a thin white bandage towards it. I touch the scratchy material that’s wrapped around my right hand. My throat feels like it’s raw and burning, my chest scathing. There’s needle in my hand. Something clamped onto my finger. More sensations start coming back. There’s an irritating tube taped under my nose. They’re like prongs. I want to take them off, but I remember thinking about how I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe, and I obediently leave the prongs up my nose.
I’m propped up on too many pillows, my back feels sore. There are blankets and covers tossed over me, and I notice two that don’t match the white protocol that seems to rule the room I’m in. One of the blankets is black, purple and white, with a piano patterned around the edges. Black and purple notes decorate the middle. The other blanket is completely different—it’s got baseballs and bats on it. It’s red and blue. The Boston Red Sox logo is on it in the center. Both are extremely warm.
I suddenly am staring at brown eyes again. I blink repeatedly. “Greyson?”
The eyes blink back at me. I realize that they’re lighter than Greyson’s eyes would be. They’re like the hot chocolate he makes. Blonde hair flops over his eyes. His face is clear of freckles.
“Stephen,” I realize.
He smiles, and then I’m wrapped in a hug. “Welcome back to the living, kid,” he whispers. “It’s good to have you back.”
I hear a shift in the room. Footsteps walk across a tiled floor. Stephen lets me go. I look up to see Greyson. He’s smiling. My left hand reaches for his, and he catches it, putting it gently to his lips.
“I got there two hours early,” I tell Greyson later. Apparently it was sometime around midnight when I woke up. He stayed up with me until I made him go to bed. But it’s been only six hours and somehow he’s up and running again.
“I should’ve gotten there earlier,” Greyson sighs.
“No, it’s fine. I should’ve gotten there on time.” I smile at him, taking his hand and bringing it to my lips. Greyson’s eyes start squinting. “No more tears,” I tell him, moving my fingers to his cheeks, right below his eyes should he disobey me and cry.
“It’s just,” Greyson says softly. “I thought you were dead.”
“I’m here, Greyson. Don’t worry. I’m here.” I reach up and brush his hair. He smiles.